


Limit(less/ed) Limerence

by FanficIsLove



Category: Batman (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Abuse, Comfort, F/M, Hurt, Implied Relationships, Jarley - Freeform, Love, Mental Abuse, Mentioned Abuse, Past Abuse, Past Joker/Harley - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Quinnshot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficIsLove/pseuds/FanficIsLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Harley did something wrong, the Joker would punish her. Things are different with Floyd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limit(less/ed) Limerence

The crash echoed and reverberated off of her eardrum, playing torturous sounds into her ears. Out of nowhere, a haunting memory appeared before her.

* * *

_She hid in their bedroom, having rushed in after she dropped the plate. It wasn't a particularly expensive piece of crockery, but that had never stopped him before. What was to make this time any different?_

_As expected, a familiar grunt of ire sounded from the kitchen, freezing her in her place. She knew he knew where she was. For some reason, she always went to the same place. It was her fault, she knew that much already. Every time she dropped something and it broke or she spoke back to her puddin', she knew what to expect. His feet stomped to the room she took refuge in, his footsteps sounding more and more menacing as they drew closer. Shutting her eyes tightly, she wished it all away. Though her prayers weren't answered._

_"Dollface?" His utterance was even more irritated than she had anticipated, "Why are you hiding? You know what happens to people who do wrong..."_

_Tears streamed down her face, painting her unnaturally pale skin rainbow as she begged for him not to, to think about what he was doing. It didn't stop him. He drew closer and pulled her upright, laying a cold, meaningless kiss on her lips before throwing her back down and kicking her in the ribs. Each and every time he did, she remembered why he did it. He made sure she did, too, by making her apologize as he beat her to a pulp on the hard floor. Her words only spewed blood over her painted lips and down her colourless face, and it made him happy. It was, she noted, the only time he looked genuinely, honestly happy. When he had his loyal girlfriend and partner-in-crime on the floor, bleeding through her apology._

_By the time he eventually stopped, she was barely conscious. His feet stopped and his words ceased as he retreated out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Her previously beautifully made-up face ran with tears and her own fluids, dripping off of her chin in a way that she knew he would call disgustingly unattractive, especially for his standards. She brought herself to rise, her whole body alight with pain, and meet her own eyes in the mirror._ _N_ _o matter how much she hurt - no matter how much she cried - she would wipe off all of the smudged vibrant, iridescent colours and redo them perfectly, making sure to cover the bruises extra-carefully as not to alarm anyone they happened to run into. After all, this was the man she loved. And he loved her too... right?_

* * *

Her hands shook violently and her eyes flooded in a way that was all-too familiar. All she could do was eye the shards in disbelief; Floyd was going to be so angry. He would hit her and beat her down, all the while telling her how stupid she was and how she shouldn't make such silly mistakes next time then maybe it wouldn't come to this again. After all, that was what she was used to. In her worry, she bent down and foolishly tried to sweep the broken pieces of dishware into her unprotected palms, an unwanted whine of discomfort parting her cherry lips. As she feared, the noise brought Floyd running into the room, sporting a nameless expression.

Kneeling on the floor already, she brought her hands together to plead like she would to God and forced herself to look at him, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to cry, "Please, I'm sorry, I didn't-" she choked on her tears, unable to get the words out.

An outstretching arm sowed her eyes shut, expecting a hard punch as she had experienced far too many times before and bracing for impact. However, a gentle palm rested against her cheek and wiped away a cascading tear. Eyes fluttering open in shock, she saw a scene she did not recognize. When she broke something of the Joker's, his face would knot into an apathetic expression and remained until she was on the floor, screaming and pleading, wishing for it to just end. Instead, Floyd wore sincere concern and was looking at her like a damaged, homeless puppy.

"What'd he do to you, dollface?" His voice didn't sound mocking in any way and his question was not rhetorical. Their gazes locked: hers glazed, the lifeless blue eyes a complete contradiction to his own warm, syrupy brown ones. He fell back, resting on his toes, to be eye-level with her, searching her eyes for the answer her mouth wouldn't give. He found a deep-seated feeling of incorrigible and perturbed wonder, seemingly awaiting a negative, physical response. When receiving none, she looked almost lost.

Floyd cupped both of his hands around her snowy face and stroked his thumbs in soothing, spiraling patterns across her cheeks in an attempt to dry them, smearing pink and blue down across down them in the process. The look did not fade from Harley's face.

He looked down and realized how badly cut up her hand were. The slits made some sort of a portrait on her palms, red paint seeping over and making the cuts almost indistinguishable from the blood. Removing his palms from her face, he made to pull the bigger shards out. Her wincing stopped him, bringing his eyes back to hers. The terror was immense.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." His words comforted her, being the opposite to what the Joker had told her all those years ago.

"Why no-t?" She tripped over her own tongue, hasty yet cautious to ask, "It's my fault."

He raised a dark eyebrow, "How is it your fault? All you did was drop something, doll. It's not that big 'a deal."

Her throat clogged and tears forced their way over her eyes, pouring on to her cheeks. Throwing herself forward and wrapping the undamaged part of her arms around his neck, tugging him in for a hug. Almost falling forward, he caught himself on the cupboard behind him and found his hands, setting and keeping a tight grip on her quavering shoulders. Burying her face into the nook of his neck, her voice broke as she tried to speak.

"Thank ya." She whispered softly, her accent slipping through, "It's just- puddin' wouldn't let it go."

Hearing this, Floyd loosened his grip and deftly brought her head from his neck, meeting her teared eyes, "Forget about him. He's gone now. And he ain't comin' back." He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, earning a conflicted look from Harley.

Eventually, she resumed her original position: head tucked into the curve of his neck, forearms wrapped safely around his neck, tears wetting his expensive shirt. Pulling back, her eyes widened at the sopping mess.

"I'm sorry- I didn't--" She nearly broke down again, pulled back from the edge by a soothing sound of reassurance erupting from the back of Floyd's throat.

He chuckled at her startled face, "Stop apologizing."

Her face broke into a light-hearted smile, convincing him she understood. Her eyelashes were clumped together, making her appear even more like a doll than she did already, and rogue tears still broke away, following a path down her face. Floyd made to wipe them away, eyes accidentally getting stuck on her plump lips. At her lowest, Floyd didn't dare take advantage of her. No, he couldn't. Instead, he drew his eyes back up to hers, finding a questioning and almost inviting aspect in the blue. Shaking his head, he looked back down to his feet.

Freezing, death-like hands crept over his, intertwining their fingers. It was, he presumed, for warmth, it being an unusually cold night. He did not look up. Alternatively, he watched their hands dance slowly together and spoke aloud.

"You know I'd never let him get you, right?" His tone was serious, letting her know he meant what he said, "He'd be dead before he got within ten feet of you. Deadshot, remember?" He tapped his nose, earning a giggle from Harley.

"I know. I don't know where I'd be without ya." She replied, voice just as serious, "I don't even know if I'd be here still."

He tightened his grasp on her fingers, making her acknowledge the fact that she was here and so was he, and those facts would never change, "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that."

Her head lowered, smile on her face as she wriggled her slender fingers in his palms, painted fingernails ever-so-slightly grazing his wrists with their length, "Thank ya, Floyd. Really."

Floyd nodded knowingly and cleared his throat, suddenly thrown back into reality, "We'd better clean up your hand, dollface. Wouldn't want you getting hurt."

 

 


End file.
